Memory
by The Warrior Poet
Summary: A Memento/X-files Crossover. Scully and Mulder come across Leonard Shelby in their investigations. Leonard/Scully Romance.
1. Prologue

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Memory

A X-files/Memento Crossover

By: Attila

Prologue

March 22, 1998

Carson City, Nevada

Leonard awoke when his wife shifted her head where it rested atop his chest. He opened his eyes and squinted from the blinding light that fell from the window adjacent the foot of the bed, the heavy shades tossed and shifted from the air that blew from the air conditioner; making a low electric hum. He had had a strange dream; he couldn't recall what had happened in the dream, only that he had found it strange and frightening, whatever it was. 

During the night he must have found comfort in the warmth and softness of Catherine's skin, for he found that he was clutching her shoulder tightly. He ran his hand down the curves and contours of her body, over the length of her arm and down across her waist and hips. He looked down at her adoringly and suddenly came to the realization that...he didn't know this woman. Her hair wasn't a rich brunette color like Catherine's, it was a light red that fell nearly to her bare shoulders. And then it all came back to him...the last thing that he remembered: Catherine's death. But why couldn't he remember anything beyond that? He had the sudden inclination to look at his hand and found a small black tattoo that said "Remember Sammy Jankis" on the area between his index finger and thumb. 

__

That's right...Sammy Jankis. I have the same condition as he does...

He slipped away from the red-haired woman and stood, slipping on his white boxers that sat on a nearby chair. He walked to a nearby mirror and looked at all the tattoos that were stamped across his chest, but the one that drew the most attention was the one that was bold across his chest: "John G. raped and murdered my wife". 

__

That...bastard. 

He walked to the bedside stand and found an assortment of items that were arrayed across the top of it. A couple of black bic pens, a few notes in his own handwriting, a small gold crucifix on a fine chain, and a few nickels and quarters. He looked in the drawers and knew that he would find the Gideon bible even before he laid his eyes upon it. He was surprised, however, to find a pile of Polaroid's. 

__

That's right...Sammy Jankis used notes and it didn't work, so I use Polaroid's and tattoos. 

He looked through the pile, hoping to find a picture of the woman; one that would give him a clue as to why he had awoke to find her naked in his bed. _Well that's obvious enough...but why?_

There were several pictures with notes on them. One of them was a picture of a big red Cadillac with **"My Car" **written on it. Another had a picture of a motel sign for the Best Western Inn with a note that said, **"My motel. Don't let them charge you for two or more rooms." **He finally found a picture of the woman, unsmiling and looking tired; wearing a black suit with a white shirt. There was a note underneath it that was crossed out, looking to start with an A. Below the crossed out words was another note: **"Dana. Make her smile." **He looked up at the woman, still sleeping in the bed, a thin sheet clinging to her nakedness. 

He shuffled to the next picture, it was a tall man with black hair and a dark suit and tie. His caption read, **"Agent Mulder. Don't trust him, he will keep you from your vengeance."**

He placed the pile of Polaroid's on the table and picked up the golden crucifix. _Is this mine, or hers? _He asked himself. He didn't know if he had ever been religious but he assumed that it must be hers. He put it back and began looking through the notes. He paused on the one that read,

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John G's License Plate Number: 186G- 0193

Get his full name at the DMV and track the bastard down.

He found his tailored tan suit and blue shirt atop a table that looked out a window onto the dusty, hot streets of Carson City. He dressed quickly and pocketed his things. He opened the door, took one last look at the woman, and closed it quietly. 

It was a warm day, and a moment after closing the door he took of his jacket and tossed it over his shoulder. He rolled up his sleeves and jogged down the steps two at a time. Before leaving he approached the front desk and paid the clerk, handing over his key and telling him not to enter the room until the woman inside had left. He found the Cadillac and opened the door, plopping into the comfortable red-vinyl bucket seat and starting it up. He placed the note (which was on yellow post-it) on the dashboard so he wouldn't forget where he was going halfway through the drive. 

__

I need a weapon.

He looked through the interior of the car. He checked in the glove compartment and found, to his surprise, a small black handgun. He grasped it, handling it with surprising ease. He checked the chamber and clip. The chamber had a round, the clip was full.

__

Payback time you sonofabitch. 

****


	2. The First Meeting

Chapter 1

Washington D.C.

March 17, 1998

The day matched Special Agent Dana Scully's mood. It was dark and somber, an occasional burst of rainfall emanating from the low, heavy clouds. She walked down the busy sidewalks of Washington D.C., avoiding the people who all seemed to be walking in the separate direction, feeling like a salmon trying desperately to swim upstream. She had just come from a small restaurant where she had taken a very early lunch. She would much rather spend the day in her apartment, curled up on her couch next to the fireplace; wrapped in a soft afghan and perhaps reading the latest hardcover by Nicholas Evans. Maybe the heavy romantic prose would bring her out of her sudden and inexplicable depression. 

Well, perhaps it wasn't depression. Maybe it was just the sudden epiphany she had the night before, the immense realization that her life had become a menial daze, an ever-repeating routine. Get up, go to work, go to sleep, get up, go to work, go to sleep...day after day after day, it never ended. Her next vacation time wasn't for four months, and she didn't know how she would possibly get through it...not at the rate she was going. Was she having a mid-life crisis? Did women _have_ mid-life crises? She didn't know, maybe she would look it up on the Internet...

She was ripped abruptly away from her musings as a fat middle-aged man with a balding head bumped into her and nearly knocked her to the ground. 

"HEY! Watch it asshole!" She shouted, before she could stop herself. She was immediately sorry that she had, until the man stopped. 

He said, "Sounds like it's someone's time of the month. Why don't you take a Midol?" He tittered with a high pitched, nauseating voice. 

She blushed with rage. "I'll tell you where you can stick your Midol, fat ass!" It seemed that everyone in D.C. halted what he or she were doing and turned to look in her direction, or at least everyone that was walking on the sidewalk. 

The smile immediately left the man's face and he fumed as he searched for a come back. The best he could come up with was "bitch" muttered in a weak voice as he walked off. Dana gave his back the finger and turned, making her way toward the FBI headquarters. She was very surprised that she had such a sudden outburst but pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she found her way to the basement office. 

Mulder was sitting at his desk, his reading glasses sitting on his nose as he read a file. He seemed to read the expression on her face and asked, "What's bothering you?" 

"Men." She replied as she plopped down in a seat and rubbed her forehead, pushing back her red hair and sighing. 

Mulder smirked, "I assure you; we aren't all that bad." He took his glasses off and set them on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"So what have you got for me today?" She asked, certain that Mulder would have _something _to ask her about the file he read. She just hoped that whatever was in the file wouldn't lead them on another wild goose chase in some other state. 

Mulder handed her the file, which was full of blurry pictures of several bright lights in a triangular organization, as if flying in formation. The number of bright dots varied in each photograph, sometimes only three sometimes as much as nine. "This formation of UFO's has been spotted all over the southwest for two days now. There have been witnesses in Southern California, Arizona and New Mexico. The formation seems to be moving steadily northward and it is expected to be heading over Carson City, Nevada within the next few days. I haven't seen anything like this in years--"

"Please don't tell me were going to Carson City." Dana interrupted, asking even though she already knew the answer. 

"Yes we are. This could be the only chance we get to take substantial, reliable visual proof of the existence of extraterrestrial aircraft. How can we pass up a chance like this?" Mulder replied, seeming to get very excited about the whole situation. 

Dana grimaced. She wanted desperately to argue, to refuse to go, but she knew that Mulder wouldn't hear any of it. "...When does our flight leave?" 

* * *

The flight departed late the next night and when they finally boarded and took off after a half-an-hour of delay's she was already crammed into a small second class seat with Mulder on her right and a snoring middle-aged woman with wisps of blonde hair above her upper lip. The flight passed slowly, dragging on and on until nine hours later they arrived in Carson City. By the time the plane landed her legs were cramped, her back was tight, and she was dead tired. 

The tedium of retrieving their bags, making motel arrangements, renting a car and driving half-way across the city in the pre-dawn silence passed in a blur until they arrived at a the Best Western that Mulder had called from the airport. He parked next to a big red Cadillac and they retired to their rooms. Dana plopped down on the firm motel room bed without even bothering to undress. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow but it seemed that it was only fifteen minutes later when she received the wake-up call that Mulder had so generously arranged at the front desk. It ripped through her dream world with a cruel high-pitched shrill and she jumped and hit the headboard violently, receiving a bulbous bump as a result. 

She lay on her back, screaming in frustration. She threw away her covers and jumped out of bed, tempted to pick up her handgun and shoot three bullets into the wall. Perhaps she would be lucky enough for one of them to find Mulder on the other side of the wall. 

Nevertheless she stripped and took a quick shower in the soap scented bathroom. She found herself thinking just how wonderful it would be to just stay in the shower and let the warm water wash away her angst. She knew this wouldn't be possible, however much she wanted it to be. She jumped out of the shower after five or six minutes, digging her toes into the soft light green shag rug as she splashed some cool water from the sink onto her face, rubbing away any remnant of the blessed state of sleep that remained within her. 

As any American woman would do she examined her naked body in the mirror for a few moments, mentally remarking that her body had become toned and slim since she had joined her gym. And, as any American woman would do, she found fault in her naked body as well, mentally remarking that at the cost of losing extra weight she also had lost some of the size in her breasts. Looking away she wrapped a towel around her wet red hair and draped herself in the white bathrobe that hung on the door. She left the bathroom and walked across the carpet, her wet feet leaving a trail that quickly dissipated as the desert heat hit it. 

In a not-so-desperate rush she plopped her suitcase down atop the bed, rifling through it in search of appropriate dress. Mulder could very well have them tromping through the desert wilderness today, searching for the ideal spot for UFO watching. In response she made sure to don a tan-colored pants suit as opposed to one with a skirt. She dressed quickly, selecting undergarments with thinner lacey material so she wouldn't sweat up a storm. Her shirt was a white cotton-poly blend that left plenty of breathing room. She touched up her face with makeup and was fastening her golden crucifix around her neck when Mulder's knock came. 

She opened the door and Mulder flew threw the door like Kramer on the television show Seinfeld. She wondered offhandedly how she had come up with that sudden comparison, and moved to the side as Mulder said enthusiastically, "Ready to prove the entire world wrong, Scully?" He carried a silver briefcase with him, probably filled with video and photography equipment. 

"I am afraid I can't show such enthusiasm, Mulder." She replied, rolling her eyes. 

"You just might change your mind when you see what I plan on showing you today." He said confidently. 

"And what, exactly, is that?" She said. What phony evidence would he attempt to convince her with now?

"I have come in contact with a gentleman that happened to film the UFO's the night before last. We're going to Topaz Lake, right on the border." He said.

__

Joy. We just traveled thousands of miles and know were traveling again. 

"I'll meet you down in the lobby, Mulder. I am in desperate need of some coffee." She said. Mulder left and she grabbed her room key. She rifled through her purse for the change to buy the coffee and strapped her holster to her belt before she locked up the room and left. 

She found the coffee machine on the ground floor, next to a varied assortment of vending machines that cramped the small room in which they were jammed. A rather attractive blonde-haired man, slender and a little shorter than Mulder, sat musing next to a soft drink machine, rubbing his stubble chin in consternation. He wore a tailored tan suit that was a similar color to her own and a blue shirt. 

She watched him with curiosity for a moment and then turned to the coffee machine. She picked up a Styrofoam cup and placed it under the nozzle, plopping two dimes into the change receiver. _Cheap Nevadans. They even make you pay for the coffee. _She thought sardonically. Not only did they have the populace in their financial grip with all of the casinos; they had to rip you off everywhere else as well. She sat tapping her foot for a few moments and nothing dropped from the nozzle. She banged the side of the machine with the flat of her fist but still nothing came. She hit the change return with no result, and at that moment Dana was ready to go on a rampage. 

"You look to be having the same kind of day that I am having." A voice said. Dana jerked her head to the side and realized it was the man that had been concentrating so hard on what to buy. 

"Yeah, but the difference between you and me is that I have this same kind of day _every_ day." She replied. The man only chuckled and shook his head, as if he had some kind of knowledge that she didn't that suggested that the truth was quite the contrary. 

"You having trouble deciding what you want to buy to drink? I recommend the Mountain Dew." She said, curiosity of the lost look on his face getting the best of her. 

"...No. I just can't remember what I came down here to get." He said, his forehead clenching tightly as if he were trying to remember. 

"You can't remember?" She said. She found that comment rather odd. 

"Yeah. You see, I have this condition--" He began, but was interrupted as Mulder appeared in the doorway to the room, telling her to hurry up. 

"Sorry. I have to go." She said, leaving the peculiar man to his struggle for remembrance. Curiously, she found herself thinking about him and his strange comment as they drove toward Topaz Lake and the UFO loon they would most definitely come in contact with. 


End file.
